


And the Norns Roll the Dice

by WinterDusk



Series: Have Tesseract, Will Travel [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterDusk/pseuds/WinterDusk
Summary: [Endgame Spoilers]  Thor, travelling on the Milano, struggles to reengage with the galaxy around him.  It’s hard to be a hero when all he remembers is failure.





	And the Norns Roll the Dice

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on from “The Shining Sun”, but is probably understandable without having read that story. Fairly obviously, Thor is not okay.

Thor runs his thumb carefully across the curve of Stormbreaker’s blade, testing her edge; weighing his words. From beyond the edges of his careful focus he can _feel_ Peter grow twitchy. However, the almost-mortal doesn’t snap and demand, “Are you even listening? Are you taking the freaking call?” and so Thor doesn’t let himself burst into tears. It’s a truce of sorts.

As Thor runs his thumb over Stormbreaker’s blade, he wishes his skin would split, spilling forth blood, if only a little. That way he’d have an excuse to say 'not now' without sounding like a coward, and everything would go back to being just as it was a moment ago; which was not okay, exactly, but bearable.

Peter shifts where he’s standing, his breath catching on an irritated hiss as he moves, and Thor knows that he’s now pushing the absolute limits of Peter’s patience. He doesn’t mean to, he just is. Thor’s eyes start to sting.

A cool hand comes to rest on Thor’s shoulder. There’s a squeeze of reassurance that leaves Thor fighting the urge to vomit because he’s so utterly undeserving of this comfort and yet so desperate for it, and then Loki is walking past him. Loki, who is beautiful and real and here, through magic of the tesseract and twisting space-time-realities.

“I’ll speak to Valkyrie”: said like Loki’s spoken to her a thousand times before; like he actually knows the woman; like he’s Thor’s brother. He’s not.

Thor closes his eyes and lets his head droop down to rest, painfully, against the axe’s knobbly wooden shaft. The discomfort is nothing less than he deserves, not with his faults, and at least with his eyes closed, dizzying vertigo doesn’t threaten to steal his senses away. Instead he tries to focus on what’s real; tries to remember that he’s got a here and a now to live in.

For all his determination, he almost misses Peter’s, “These calls aren’t free, you know.” Maybe it’s because he’s relieved. It’s good to know that he doesn’t have to get up and pretend to be a person today. Not in front of someone who should expect better from him.

Across the Milano’s common area, Thor can hear Rabbit rummaging through something, for something, all to fix something else. It seems to Thor like altogether too much effort is being expended, and he keeps his head down so that simply looking at his friend doesn’t wear him out. He’s certainly not avoiding looking because he doesn’t want to see Rabbit’s drooping ears; it’s nothing to do with that at all.

Loki’s departing footsteps are thankfully lost beneath Rabbit’s noise and, if Loki speaks to Valkyrie at all, Thor doesn’t catch the timber of his voice. Sometimes it’s all together too much, having this Loki be here, one that doesn’t understand. Not that _any_ Loki would understand what Thor’s let become of himself. Occasionally Thor finds himself, cruelly, perversely, wishing for _another_ Loki. A different one. One he’d finally found a measure of balance with.

If the Norns were ever to hear of such a wish, they’d curse him for ingratitude. Though how they could curse him to face worse than he’s endured already is beyond Thor’s meagre ken.

Besides it is petty to want Loki to be someone else. Especially when Thor has so badly failed at-

For a moment it all looms; large and crushingly real. The dead; the lost; the endless eddies of dust and fear and hopelessness. His breath starts to pick up. His hands clench against Stormbreaker and, miraculously, he cuts himself, the sting of it pulling him back from the brink.

What had he been thinking of? That he shouldn’t miss his Loki? That he doesn’t deserve _this_ Loki?

But surely it’s okay for him to petty in this one, little way? Because while Loki might not say as much, Thor knows that this not-his-brother wishes Thor were someone else, too.

#

Mornings are better. Usually. Sometimes.

Thor never wakes fast and alert anymore. Rather he seems to swim up through dark layers, each as thick and dense as lava. Lava that flows over him, rolling him up and threatening to cremate him where he lies until there’s nothing of his worthlessness left and the world is refreshed.

Then he’ll open his eyes. The past never comes back to him in a horrific, sickening rush, because it never leaves him. Instead he has a moment to bask, on the brink of sleep, almost empty of thoughts. As he does, he takes in the warm darkness around him that makes up the cabin Peter’s granted him. It’s a small space, for the Milano isn’t a large ship. But it’s all Thor’s.

More to the point, it’s on the far side of the galaxy from anything that might look like an obligation.

In short, it’s everything Thor wants.

If Thor’s lucky beyond reason, Loki won’t have left yet. Short space on the Milano has led to them hot-bunking or, more realistically given the days when Thor can’t face reaching full wakefulness, to Loki periodically forcing Thor over onto the one half of the bed so that he too can lie down.

Sometimes Thor wonders if this lethargy born of crushing horror and self-hatred might not be the true reason behind the Odinsleep. Whatever the cause of Thor’s endless need for oblivion, it’s a blessing. For there are mornings when there’ll be warm arms wrapped around him, comforting and constraining at one and the same time.

In the first few nights Loki was returned to their reality, the two of them had tried sleeping in a range of configurations. With another Loki, on another ship, they had eased into the pattern of napping together, Loki’s forehead pillowed on Thor’s shoulder, while they tried to hold at bay nightmares of Hela and Ragnarok and a million other hurts. But this Loki cannot stand to look at Thor, and so they have fallen into a different pattern: Loki warm against Thor’s back, and Thor able to run his hands – whether waking lost and confused, or from nightmares where his ingratitude has caused the Norns’ reclamation of Loki – over the slender fingers he knows so well.

Yes. Mornings are best.

#

Mornings never last.

Today they’re on the Clock. It’s the first landfall that they’ve experienced since Loki found them, and so Thor had plans to keep his brother safe; to maybe show him around and generally have as nice a time as possible on a planetoid so small it hosts but one small mining town.

The Clock might, more accurately, be described as a meteorite than a planetoid save for its lack of neighbors. It maintains a long, slow, looping orbit at a healthy distance from a neutron star. Not a healthy enough distance to avoid, upon the star’s every sixty second rotation, a periodic click as the Clock’s rocks react with its star’s immense emissions.

It’s an interesting phenomena, and one that, to judge by the shops in the Clocks’ main, dome-covered boulevard, seems to have caught the attention of the more scientific-minded among the mining community. It’s also getting annoying.

Loki doesn’t look annoyed. He looks _intrigued_.

Bad enough to be hungover, worse yet that the very ground Thor’s walking on keeps resonating. “I’m going to find a bar,” he says. It can’t hurt, can it?

Peter gives him the type of look that Thor’s more used to receiving from his mother. “You can’t have any credits left.”

But Thor does. Rabbit gave him lots and beer is not so costly. There’s no need to tell Peter that.

“I thought you were going to start training again.” That’s Loki, arms folded across his chest and eyes judgmental as only a younger sibling’s can be. Thor would squirm, but that requires shame. Shame long since lost any hold over him.

Still, Loki requires an answer, at least if Thor wants to keep him around. And he does, desperately. If Loki vanishes again… Thor wonders briefly whether his heart’s interacting with the neutron star too, but that would be too neat an explanation for his palpitations. He’s just weak; just scared to be alone again with his failure.

Respect, trust and fraternal duty might have long since withered between he and Loki, but mayhap pity will trundle along, if only Thor can just stop aggravating his brother beyond all possible tolerance. He considers what to say.

He could invite Loki along. Say that they should have a drink together, as brothers may. And, it’s true that Loki’s never been a big one for drinking, but maybe just this once? They could reminisce about Asgard, talk about the tesseract, hash out whether or not there was anything else that could have been done about Thanos and- No. That won’t work.

Instead he could tell Loki that he’ll be along, following the rest of the crew, after just one moment. He’ll let him know that it’s only a quick drink. He parts his lips to say so. Remembers the crinkling at the corners of Loki’s eyes while he’d held Thor’s hair back as he lost control of his stomach that morning; disgusted at Thor’s weakness.

Right. He could tell Loki that it’s a one off. That the electromagnetic-rays washing in waves through the small habitat they’re visiting are catching at his false eye. That the eye’s output is sparking and flickering; sending barbs of pain curling out like-

But that’s a pathetic excuse. Many have suffered more.

Maybe he should just tell Loki that it’s none of his damn business.

“We will be there later.” A voice rumbles, low and saying exactly the words that Thor wanted to say. But it’s Drax who speaks them. Thor looks away. Lets Drax take a hold of his arm. Only the two of them go to the bar.

#

Drinking with Drax isn’t too bad. Better than with Nebula or, worst of all, Peter. And, yes, Thor has noticed that he’s a roster of minders.

But better than drinking with the man is training with him. He’s strong, hard to injure and, for a Guardian, surprisingly averse to small-talk. By the time Thor’s had a drink or two, he’s feeling steadier; ready to interact with the real world; the present world. Certainly the lights flashing in his dead eye are less frustrating. He’s almost looking forward to sparring.

After their drinks, someone tries to start a fight with Drax. In every bar there’s always one. If they aren’t picking a fight with Drax, it’s Thanos’s children. If it isn’t with them, it’s at Thor’s own failures, or even simply that they think Stormbreaker’s shiny and they want her. Whatever this particular long-ago problem may be, Thor makes the guy go away. Okay, that gets them kicked out of the bar, but Drax is laughing and Thor can feel his own sides ache with his mirth, so that’s all to the good. Drax throws a companionable arm over Thor’s shoulders as they walk and Thor can’t help but lean into that contact. When they reach the small, semi-public area set aside for sparring, Thor’s happy enough to follow through with the motions.

Just like Loki, Drax favours knives. And just like Loki, Drax gets caught up and prickly over the most unusual of things. But unlike Thor’s little brother, Drax is all thick sinews and rippling muscle. There’s a mass and substance there that leaves Thor less afraid to…

Well, bluntly put, Thor’s pretty sure Drax’s neck isn’t going to snap easily.

“Focus.” Drax says, and raps Thor’s arm with his knife’s hilt.

Thor tries to do so. Sometimes he manages. Other times he fails spectacularly. Today, apparently, isn’t a day for successes.

“They’re all gone.” Thor’s words are whispers that escape when he should better keep them close. Drax puts down his knife.

“Who is gone?” He asks. But although Drax, literal as ever, is looking around a gymnasium still full for the missing, Thor knows the other man must have seen a pattern to Thor’s own ramblings.

Or maybe he has not? Maybe he’s still laboring under the misapprehension that Thor knows what he is doing? That Thor can save anyone? “Everyone.” And then, because it’s true. “The snap. I killed them.”

Drax’s eyebrows draw together. “That is simply not true. Only half of everyone died.” As though that is better. Thor remembers them fading; remembers the dust. His hands shake and he clenches his hands tight.

But Drax is not done with him. “That half were killed by Thanos, not by you.” Those are whispered lies that Loki utters to him in the night; Thor doesn’t believe them then, he doesn’t believe them now.

And then Drax adds, “But you failed to kill Thanos.”

For a moment Thor can still _feel_ it. The thunk-thunk-thunk of resistances breached, Stormbreaker hacking through Thanos’s chest, snapping rib after rib. The bright jubilation in Thor’s veins that he would see his foe defeated. The darkness, swirling below that, a never-ending flood of self-reproach, that it was too little. It was too late.

Then Thanos had snapped his fingers.

_I should have gone for the head._

“You weren’t to know.” Drax’s hand is warm on Thor’s shoulder, transporting Thor to the here-and-now. But Drax’s face; that’s a different matter. Never expressive, he seems more remote than ever. Dimly, it occurs to Thor that maybe the one who named himself the Destroyer is remembering another massacre; another’s failure; different dead.

Thor’s breathing steadies out and he reaches up to clasp Drax’s wrist, where it rests warm upon his shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.” Not for saying words Thor has heard a thousand times before and found lacking. But for being willing to risk the darkness in his own soul to find empathy.

Drax snaps free from his thoughts and steps back. Where his hand had lingered, Thor’s shoulder is now cold. It leaves Thor desperate to find somewhere warm and forgotten to lose himself and permits him no attention to spare for continued training.

Then Drax says, “Now, we should wrestle.”

#

Wrestling leaves Thor warm for reasons beyond physical exertion. Truly, he’s forgotten the feel of physical contact not intended to hurt or to scorn. Alas that the exercise tears his sweatshirt. It’s an ugly garment, but it’s one of the few that he has now.

Briefly he considers browsing the stores near the spaceport for replacement clothing. But Rabbit’s gifted credits are running short and, on board the Milano, Thor’s store of snacks is similarly running dangerously low. It’s an easy calculation to make.

#

Most nights are terrible. They form a black abyss that echoes and calls in the voices of the dead. Thor weeps for them in his sleep though many were slaughtered in glorious battle and will feast forever in the halls of Valhalla. Yet beyond those blessed souls are many, many more who were mere sacrificial avatars for Hela’s madness. They died as mere background and, dying thus, will ebb and fade in Helheim.

When weeping for them, there is no relief.

Dreaming of those shades leads to Thor waking bleak. Even the weight of Loki, breath sleep-soft against the nape of Thor’s neck, can do little to displace the fog-chill lingering beyond the realm of the dead. When Thor slides one mittened hand down to rest over Loki’s, his brother’s fingers feel wasted as a corpse’s. Maybe the Norns will reclaim him yet.

Just thinking that alone leaves Thor wanting to claw his way from the bed and, preferably, his own skin.

He doesn’t, because Loki needs his undisturbed rest. True, this Loki might not be the variant Thor knows best, the one murdered by Thanos, but he’s arrived bearing a tesseract, and Thor’s not yet addled enough to disregard what this means: that this variant of his brother’s survived for far too long under Thanos’s mechanisms. The Loki Thor once knew had years of peace and rest upon Odin’s stolen throne to dull the broken edges of his trauma; Thor can no longer find it in himself to begrudge his brother those moments.

Sometimes _this_ Loki wakes Thor, voice hoarse with near silent screams. These are the best nights for Thor, and he hates himself that his brother’s hurt is thus beneficial for him. But an excuse to abandon sleep and her agonies; to be focused beyond guilt’s torment in his care for Loki? It’s a blessing indeed.

But on those other nights? When Thor wakes and cannot sleep? Well, on those he can eat.

Loki, as a child, used to practice sleight of hand. Long before Seidr made real his vanishing acts and thousand little illusions, he’d earned his title of trickster by picking pockets; misplacing cards; and calling forth, with nimble fingers, a thousand little impossibilities. Thor would watch in open mothed awe, until, in later years, Loki’s mocking of his expression took on a crueler edge.

Loki: seeing, all those centuries before any other, that Thor had not the whit to be ruler.

These haunted nights, Thor employs every trick he ever saw from his brother. The slow, smooth movements; the care to hide his excitement; the forward planning in placing his snacks.

Of course, when the morning comes and the crumbs cannot be hidden, Loki always knows. He is endlessly disappointed in Thor. But then, that too is a familiar cycle.

#

Another day, another problem. Thor’s not entirely certain why they are where they are. Loki’s giving him strange, dark looks that Thor’s doubtless meant to be too dumb to take note of. Thor strokes his thumb over the edge of his axe and tells himself it’s not a nervous gesture.

If the way the guards opposite flinch is any indication, it’s certainly not taken that way.

Behind the guards there is a throne and upon the throne sits a tragic figure. Maybe the queen only appears that way to Thor, with her worry-bruised eyes and fingers that tremble under the long, elaborately embroidered cuffs of her robe. Maybe he’s sympathizing more than he should.

He looks at Loki; imagines Loki-as-Odin upon the golden throne. Had Loki ever worried as this child does? The mere thought leaves Thor’s eyes stinging; his throat tight.

But the Nine Realms hadn’t been ravaged, not then, not by more than the usual internal conflicts that, honestly, Loki had been rather negligent in dealing with. Thor only realizes he’s glairing at Loki when he’s returned the look with interest. Thor blinks and looks away. It’s not as if _this_ Loki would even understand Thor’s vexation if explained; he hadn’t been there. True, Thor could walk him through the events, but why stir trouble to reflect upon ills so heavily overwritten by Hela and Thanos that they now appear but the effects of child-like play?

It would be nice, non-the-less, to discuss those events.

Sometimes Thor really hates time travel, for all that he loves that he has somehow stolen back a brother from the multiverses. A brother from a reality where maybe Thanos still rages and the vanished are but dust. Dust and memories. Gone and ached for. A reality where-

For a moment the horror of existence rears up, threatening to tumble Thor head over tail and crush his pathetic self into ground-up hopes.

It’s a moment wherein Drax and Rabbit alike would tell Thor to focus.

Thor tries. He looks at the back of Peter’s head, taking in the slight bobbing movement as he talks, negotiating his reward-if-successful with the queen. He looks at the queen’s arching architecture, wrought in steel where Asgard once was stone and-

No. Back to the people here, now.

The guard by the queen’s left has the flat-eyed look of the very bored or the deeply traumatized. By the side door – the Guardian’s entry point and thus likely exit point – one of the guards, presumably assuming themselves beyond the notice of others – is making a rude gesture to their colleague about… Thor follows the jerk of a hand. Ah. About Groot. At the queen’s side, the visor in his purple ceremonial armor is looking at Thor.

For a moment Thor’s confused by the look of lust. No one’s paid him that attention since… five years hence. Hels, no one’s paid him _any_ attention since he’s joined the Guardians. Not next to his more dramatic crewmates.

Which is when he realizes the visor’s regard is all for Stormbreaker. Despite himself Thor feels his lips quirk into a smile he’s mostly certain his beard hides. Stormbreaker is, after all, a very well put together weapon. Eitri surpassed himself with her.

And maybe Thor shifts a bit, knocking Stormbreaker somewhat. It’s merely because they’ve been standing so long. He’s certainly not displaying her better.

Then, suddenly, the Guardians are moving, negotiations apparently concluded. Loki and Peter argue about whether to use the tesseract; Loki loses. There’s a flight and a battle with some form of giant, migratory space-dwelling… worm. Thor can’t describe it better. He strafes the being’s form with lightening, distracting it while Rabbit detonates something that… While Rabbit detonates something.

It’s rather messy after that, but Thor doesn’t care. Everyone’s whole and well and he, apparently, made an excellent distraction.

He’d once made an excellent distraction for Steve. Maybe _that_ should be his role in life? The destiny he should now pursue? As a route to the greatness of others?

The thing’s demise leads to a return flight with enough time for a brief card game. Then they’re in the throne room once more, Peter concluding their business with the queen. The Queen of Attaras, apparently. Thor doesn’t worry about that, not the visor’s attempt to talk with him about purchasing Stormbreaker; rather his eyes are for someone else.

Spotting the relevant guard, again by the side door, Thor smiles. And as they leave, maybe his fist lashes out, just the once. The guard crumples to the ground. Thor doesn’t stop to see what the court’s broader reaction is.

Back on the Milano, Rabbit gives him more credits.

#

Sometimes, when it’s especially bad, Thor clings to Stormbreaker. Her smooth, bright metal speaks to a singlemindedness of purpose that Thor can no longer reach. Loki, pensive in a dark corner of their cabin says, “I think you love that thing more than you do me.”

#

It’s easy enough for Thor to sneak into and out of his small cabin on the Milano. There’s always something going on. Card games. Heist planning. Arguments over whose turn it is to clear the sanitation filter. It builds an easy rhythm that Thor remembers from the New Statesman, before everything went from bad to worse.

Today, as Thor returns from his supply run, everyone’s in the communal area, watching Loki and Gamora spar. Now, _that’s_ a pair that Thor wouldn’t have expected to either work or play well together for all that they always seem to. Clearly Thanos was better in choosing his children than Odin. At least when it came to avoiding strife.

Thor squashes his petty jealousy as unworthy and stashes his supplies under his bed. Picks up Stormbreaker, and heads back to the others.

Sitting where he has a good view, Thor sharpens a blade that never needs sharpening, more for the comfort of cradling her in his hands than he likes to admit. As he does so, Gamora throws Loki into a bulkhead hard enough the Thor can _see_ Loki wince. Only by clutching at Stormbreaker is Thor able not to react. But Groot glances in Thor’s direction, as though in sympathy for the severed limb Thor’s throttling. Thor hurriedly loosens his grip.

He has one good thing left, _one_ , and here he is, at risk of damaging her! He’s _useless_. Blinking back tears, Thor ducks his gaze and anxiously searches the axe’s handed for damage. Thankfully there doesn’t seem to be any.

He’s still running his hands back and forth across the twisted wood, when Thor becomes aware of Rabbit’s paw, warm on his shoulder. “Focus,” he’s told.

Thor tries. There’s the swirling pattern of the wood under his hand. The sharp snap of Loki’s voice in angry retort over something. The warmth of Rabbit’s touch. Reality starts to creep in at the edges.

Peter is grumbling. “And do you have any idea how much replacement paneling costs?” Thor looks over. His eyes are hazy with tears, but the paneling that Peter’s complaining about looks just fine to him. “Just because you’re both made of indestructability, doesn’t mean my ship is.”

Clearly Gamora and Loki agree more with Thor’s assessment than Peter’s for they appear unrepentant. Loki’s paying more attention to the blade he’s using to pick at his nails than Peter, while Gamora’s all but rolling her eyes.

“Complain to your girlfriend about the damage, Quinn,” Loki snaps. “She’s the one who threw me.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.” Gamora snaps. “And you need to get better at falling.” Whenever anyone else refers to whatever there might have been between Peter and Gamora, there’s a very present risk of dismemberment. When Loki says the same, she barely seems to rise to irritation. Is it a strange effect of them both being lost in time that makes them seem so ill at ease with the rest of the Guardians, yet close to one another? Or is Thor projecting his own state of mind on to them?

Thor’s eyes catch Nebula’s, where she’s sitting across from him. She also seems… troubled… by the interaction unfolding. But all she says is, “Maybe the training should wait until we are not on the ship?”

“ _Ship?_ ” Peter splutters. “She isn’t merely a-“ Everyone pretty much ignores him. Indeed, Gamora is talking about getting rusty. Groot is… something. Nebula seems to be sticking to her guns about activity-appropriate spaces, and Thor would agree with her. Really he would. There’s no need for Loki and Gamora to train every moment of every day. Certainly Loki never _used_ to be this focused on his training. It makes Thor sick to reflect that once upon a time he’d have considered this a positive aspect of Thanos’s treatment of his brother. Probably.

It’s just that the conversation seems so very far away. For Gamora’s earlier words have started, belatedly, to echo through his mind. _Falling; Loki needs to get better at falling._ Until all that Thor can see is Loki, falling. An endless, cycling moment where Loki goes up, high above the bifrost; where Loki catches Gungnir; and where Loki exists, open-handed and vanishing fast, further and further beyond Thor’s reach.

Gone like everything else that ever matters to Thor.

“Lunch time!” Thor’s snapped from his thoughts by Loki, who is now somehow kneeling right next to him. Gamora’s gone from the communal area. Groot has vanished too. Thor looks for dust, but finds none.

“Stop daydreaming, Thor.” But there’s something dark behind the playfulness of Loki’s tone. “Time’s a-wasting.”

“Oh.” Thor lumbers to his feet, wondering how much time he’s lost this episode.

“Got to keep you fed.” Loki says, patting his hand on Thor’s belly. Thor flushes, but can’t defend himself from the dig.

Instead he follows Loki off the Milano and holds his peace; there’s nothing Loki could do to make Thor angry enough to leave him. Not now. Not since killing Thanos. Maybe not since Thanos killed Loki. Thor barely even remembers the feel of rage these days.

He quickens his pace to draw level with Loki and slides his fingers into the curl of Loki’s hand. Warm; alive; here with him.

Loki doesn’t push him away.

It’s a good life. Thor doesn’t deserve it.

Then he looks around, wondering where they’ll go for lunch. “Where are we?” He asks, for the spaceport they’ve stepped out onto is unfamiliar.

Loki gives Thor a strange look. “Trouble.” He says. “We’ve been here for three days now.”

Thor looks away.

There’s a sigh, then surprisingly gentle fingers are cupping Thor’s jaw. Thor finds himself looking into Loki’s thoughtful gaze. He’s expecting words like ‘whatever happened to you?’ or ‘you’ve got to pay more attention’; both of which are perfectly reasonable statements.

Yet, in the end, Loki says neither. Instead he pulls Thor’s head down and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Come on. Let’s find lunch.” There’s a pause. Loki’s smile turns bitter. “You’re going to have to buy.”

That’s okay. That, at least, Thor can do.

#

Some evenings are endless. At the moment they’re sitting in a bar, waiting for Nebula and Groot to return. Loki’s showing off at the counter, a blade flashing between his fingers while a gaggle of beings thrill around him. It didn’t always used to be like this. Thor didn’t always used to be slow. Didn’t used to be the one waiting while others set the agenda.

_Yes. Look where that got him._

He needs a drink.

Slumping against the counter, he flicks a credit chip across the backs of his knuckles. See? He can still be spry. The chip vanishes along with the bartender and Thor is left with his drinks refreshed. The beer is weak and never so sweet as the mead of his home realm. But that’s fine. Thor deserves nothing but bitterness.

“Is one of those for me?” Loki asks, all fay smiles as he slides into the always-vacant space next to Thor and steals a drink that most definitely wasn’t for him.

Thor lets the situation be.

Running a finger through the condensation on his bottle, he tries to find a nonchalant way of asking how long Loki’s planning on staying around for. Whether maybe he’d prefer it if Thor got some blankets and moved to the floor. Would that help him settle in a bit? Loki, unexpectedly nice, is silent long enough for Thor to sort through it all and, when he thinks he’s maybe found the words to say, Thor looks up.

Loki hadn’t been giving him space. Loki looks like he’s barely even aware that Thor exists.

Thor turns, following Loki’s gaze: Nebula.

“She tortured me.” Loki says, voice bright and brittle and near-silent. Thor feels like someone’s punched him in the stomach; all the air driven hard and fast from him.

 _I’m sorry,_ he thinks, and, _I should have been there._ But the words don’t come. Not to him.

For Loki, the words don’t stop. “She was very good at it. Very thorough. But she wasn’t the best.”

Is this where Thor is meant to promise to take him away from it all? To whisk him away from the evil cyborg? But Nebula’s no more evil than Loki himself. And Loki’s never welcomed Thor’s solving of his problems, even when Thor had the capacity to do so.

“Loki-“ The name comes out, low and twisted. Winded enough that the one who could be Thor’s brother doesn’t seem to hear it.

“I just.” Loki swallows. Thor’s eyes track the up-down motion of the apple of his throat. It occurs to him that Loki looks like he’s trying not to cry. “I thought you were coming.”

Thor realizes _he_ is crying. Which is not okay. Loki’s the one who was hurt. Loki’s the one who should be comforted. Uncertain of his welcome, but desperate to wipe that look from Loki’s face, Thor raises his arms. Hopes that maybe he can hold his brother, as they once and only once held one another that night when Loki returned. That, by holding Loki, Thor can help to anchor him to the here and now, as Loki anchors Thor.

But Thor’s action just seems to return Loki to the present moment and he recoils. Of course he recoils. Thor is abhorrent, useless and a disgrace to all of Asgard. Thor wouldn’t want to accept comfort from himself either.

“I need to go.” Loki says, and leaves.

Thor returns to his drinks. He plays a couple of rounds of solitaire, all the while wondering whether Peter will take the opportunity to recall the Milano and leave Thor behind on Trouble where he can cause no more harm.

#

After the bar debacle, Thor hadn’t thought Loki would come back, but he does. Maybe being a glutton for punishment is a characteristic that transcends mere genetics. Thor’s alerted by the creaking of the bed and the way that the mattress slowly dips and sags as Loki slips over Thor’s bulk to claim his space besides the wall.

Thor had thought, when Loki was first returned, that Loki would feel better – feel less crushed and confined – sleeping at the edge of the bed. Then he’d wondered whether maybe Loki slept where he did because he wanted the option of pushing Thor onto the floor. But Loki’s never shown any interest in either.

Thor’s Loki, the one whose neck had snapped five years and thousands of light years away, had liked the comforting reassurance of a wall at his back, too. A wall at his back, and his warrior brother between him and the door.

Thor hadn’t understood why then. Not really. Not the Thanos bit of the story, crazy as that ignorance now feels. But he’d understood what Loki had seemed to need, and had let it be.

He lets it be now, though his heart aches that this Loki he’s found is so haunted that he’d rather stay with a Thor capable of aught but failure rather than be exposed and alone. But Loki _does_ need this one thing from Thor. So it is that Thor sleeps with one hand outside the bedcovers, hanging down to where Stormbreaker’s resting, between packets of junk food, half-under the bed.

#

Nevermore is a large space station positioned at the mouth to a wormhole. Just looking at it brings back painful-fond remembrances of the past for Thor and he half expects Loki to make a joke about diving through the Devil’s Anus, before remembering that _this_ Loki won’t.

“Almost looking human, tubby,” Peter says, strolling over the join Thor by the window and clapping him on the shoulder. He’s not wrong, so Thor lets the comment slide.

“Is there a plan for today?” Sometimes he remembers them, sometimes he doesn’t. It can’t hurt to ask, right?

Peter, for all his other faults, never turns down a chance to recap his game-plays. “You and Drax train. Nebula and Rocket are going to trade for components to upgrade the cannons. And-“ this to Rabbit “-I _mean_ trade. We don’t want to get driven out of this base, too. And Gamora and I will head out to the marketplace to stock up.”

Gamora gives Peter a look that suggests she’d rather crush him like a bug. “How about I go with Loki?”

“No can do.” Peter, who must surely, one day soon, stop trying to recreate his thing with Gamora, says. “Lackey and Groot are stuck on cleaning detail.” Perfect! Thor thinks wryly. Of all the things Peter could have picked up from his long-distance chat with Valkyrie, it had to be that little nickname. Hopefully, at least, Loki won’t realize that Thor can explain its provenance to him.

“I am Groot!”

Peter does not relent. “Hey, you make the mess, you clear the mess, buddy.”

“I am Groot.”

Thor holds up his hands in a show of perfect innocence. “I did tidy that up.”

“I am Groot.” But the fight seems to have gone out of the adolescent, and he stomps sulkily towards the door.

Everyone looks at Loki. “Yeah, no. I’m not joining him. The last time I checked, I was a free man.”

Peter gives him that smile that looks cocky-angry, but that Thor recognizes enough from the mirror to read the underlying dose of please-stop-challenging-me. “Alas, this is not a free ship. You’re not paying; therefore you’re stuck on cleaning duty.”

Loki snarls, but apparently walks into the galley. Thor wonders if he’s meant to point out the slight shimmer that passed over his brother’s body while Peter was speaking, but can’t see how it will help. He’ll do the countertops when he gets back.

#

The training halls of Nevermore are wide and spacious. Thor feels warm and relaxed, several hours of wrestling with Drax leaving him feeling strangely… light. As though all the troubles are far below him.

Casually he swings Stormbreaker back and forth. “Do you think there is somewhere I can _really_ test her?”

“Next week,” Drax says. “When you provide a distraction while we break into the Forgotten Temple of the Damned.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “Although I still am not happy that they called it ‘Forgotten’ when clearly it is not.”

Thor nods. “I imagine that’s why they were damned.” For a moment he thinks that Drax won’t let the little naming conundrum go, but thankfully he does, though with a somewhat uncomfortable shrug. Language troubles aside, Thor is free to continue, “Still, that wasn’t what I really meant. A battle isn’t the same as testing a weapon.”

Drax gives him a look. Thor runs his words back. Runs them again, while trying to imagine whether he would have spoken them five years ago. Decides that he probably would have. “I’m not worried about me.” He clarifies for Drax’s benefit. “But it seems a bit unfair to be trying out random acts on warriors who wish to do battle and thence assume their place in Valhalla.” Even assuming that the strangers from beyond the Nine Realms believe in Valhalla.

That would be a thing of beauty; a feasting hall where all whom were brave, throughout every multiverse, might dine together and regale their greatest deeds. Surely Nebula had earned a place in such a hall? And Drax and Rabbit?

Maybe they could tell mother and father of Thor’s deeds and-

Because he’s never going to-

But a new thought looms dark and oppressive. For what if _Thanos_ made it to Valhalla? He’d surely fought bravely, if with evil misdirection, and-

Thor’s chest feels tight. He gasps, attempting to draw in air, but that doesn’t help him. It’s dishonorable for a warrior to drop their weapon, yet Thor barely has the presence of mind to lean Stormbreaker against the wall before he’s doubled over and fighting down a wave of nausea and-

A warm hand rubs, rather too roughly to be reassuring, up and down his spine. “Focus, or I will bite you.” Thor doesn’t know how to tell Drax that bodily mortification isn’t something he’s seeking to avoid; that he is wretched and deserves all the punishment he encounters.

“I need a drink.” He needs to be able to breathe.

“I thought you needed another battle.” Which is Drax’s attempt at cajoling.

“A drink will be better.” Although he’s exhausted his ability to pay for the same. “I will have to ask Rabbit for more credits.”

“He’ll say no.” The certainty in Drax’s voice makes Thor wonder when and for what purpose Drax once tried to borrow from his shipmate.

“He doesn’t say no to me,” Thor says. Rabbit’s generosity is out of pity. Thor knows that he’s pathetic; that he can’t look after himself and is beyond the help of those he’d considered his friends. Only a burden to Valkyrie and Korg and his people. Only a joke to the Avengers.

But Rabbit, for some reason, has taken pity on him. Thor’s not sure why.

Drax just regards Thor as though Thor’s having one of his episodes rather than being as clear and critical as he ever gets these days. “I do not know to what you are referring.”

Thor tries to draw him a little picture, moving his fingers to illustrate the point. “Well, after Peter got the payouts and gave them to Rabbit to share out, he’d-“ feel sorry and “-give me some and-“

“That is called pay.”

Thor stops. Runs the, admittedly hazy, memories through his mind. “Wait? Pay?”

“Pay is reimbursement for useful activity. Didn’t they have that on Asgard?”

“Yes. Yes, we did.” That’s not the part that Thor is struggling with. “You mean that I’m actually doing something useful here?”

“You are an idiot.” Drax says, with all sincerity. In an ideal world Thor would get a better straight answer from Drax. And from Drax such an answer might help for, to the best of Thor’s knowledge, Drax is a terrible liar. But there’s the sound of running footsteps and then Gamora skids to a stop by them. Thor doesn’t even realize he’s summoned Stormbreaker until the shaft is warm in his hand.

“Doesn’t either of you A-holes bother answering your comms? Or are you both too busy stripping naked and wallowing about together?”

“Watch you tongue, woman. This is called wrestling.”

“Really?” Gamora raises an eyebrow. “Because I never learned to wrestle half-naked.”

“Well, of course, not.” Thor agrees. “After all-“

“Look.” Gamora holds up a hand and talks right over him. “You need to stop arguing with me here and start following, right now. Because I think we have a problem.”

She doesn’t look like someone who only _thinks_ that there’s a problem. Dread spreads icy through Thor’s body. There’s only one person for whom being in trouble would result in Thor being summoned. “Loki?” The name emerges, strangled.

Gamora sighs. “He entered a high stakes game.” As they walk, she continues. There are words like _blame Quill for not shutting up about credits_ and _can’t believe he was so stupid_ , but Thor’s mostly focused on the realization that Nevermore is a rough place and he’d let Loki wonder about unescorted.

“What happened? Who’d he cheat?” Because with Loki it’s all about the cheating. Though with the tesseract, Thor would at least have hoped for Loki to teleport away rather than face up to whatever it is that he’s done.

“Cheat?” Gamora shrugs. “As far as I can tell? No one. But he caught the eye of a collector.”

Images of Loki restrained and in one glass box among thousands, all of which look hopelessly like the prison cells of Asgard, fill Thor’s mind. “What type of collector?”

“I don’t know. One for some Grandmaster of a place called-“

“-Sakaar.” Thor finishes, suddenly grim.

If Gamora or Drax are startled that he guesses correctly, neither of them say as much. “Apparently your brother looks like this Grandmaster’s former lover or some such, and the slaver’s hoping to get a good price due to that.”

None of which explains how Loki has come to be collateral in a game rather than a player. “I didn’t think slavery was legal here.”

Gamora looks grim. “Thor, this place is a million light-years from anywhere that even cares about legal.”

Thor starts to run.

#

The high stakes room, when he reaches it, is calm and quiet. If Thor weren’t here for a very specific purpose, he’d probably consider it boring and leave again.

As it is, his eyes take in the tables, the cards, the players. The bar where the smiling server is clearly wearing a blaster. The stakes and associated guards standing to protect them. Loki, wearing Sakaarian chains, complete with electric shock suppressors. Well, that explains the non-activation of the tesseract at least.

Loki’s eyes are wide, his skin pale. He’s got that fake-bored-and-in-control expression on his face as he’s arguing with someone in Sakaaran makeup who’s clearly already stopped paying attention. As he argues, tension lines his mouth. Loki’s fingers are clenched in on themselves as though he would like nothing more than to transform them into talons and claw everyone in the room to pieces. He _looks_ amazingly calm.

If Thor knows anything about his brother, he must be _absolutely terrified_.

And then he sees Thor. Some of that tension eases.

Good. Thor starts into the room.

Blasters – a whole lot of them – end up pointing in his direction. “And who,” says the dealer at the table, “are you lot?”

Thor’s good as a distraction. Good enough to get paid for it according to Drax. But that’s not the role he’s here for today.

Instead he looks at the dealer. Then at a very specific player at the table; the visor of Attaras. Glances at Gamora and Drax. He’s pretty certain they can win through in a fight, but then there’ll be dead bodies everywhere. Dead bodies of people who have come back from the snap or who have somehow survived the snap.

Thor’s been responsible for enough corpses of late. Thankfully there’s another way.

He smiles at the dealer, and hopes that he looks less homicidal than he feels. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll just let me walk out of here with my brother?”

The dealer shrugs, and glances at the Sakaarian slaver. The slaver shakes their head once, sharply. The dealer smiles at Thor. “I’m afraid that your suggestion has not been accepted.”

“However-“ cuts in the visor of Attaras, eyes fixed on Stormbreaker in a way that, frankly, makes Thor’s skin crawl, “-the game is not yet done. You can be dealt in, if you have a stake you care to wager?”

“No!” Loki snaps. “Thor! No, don’t!”

Thor ignores Loki’s words, though he can’t stop his eyes from looking at his brother. Loki looks- sad. Heartbroken. As though the game is already lost.

Well, there’s time enough for regret later, although Thor will aim for another outcome.

“Stakes must be of significant value.” The dealer cautions. “Current buy-in must be equivalent to the favor of a Grandmaster, a habitable planet in the Origa system, the last egg of a void-dwelling dragon or-“ Thor’s heard enough.

“Or the last work of Nidavellir.” And he throws Stormbreaker onto the table. “Deal me in.”

#

The next morning… eventually arrives.

“Hey,” Peter is more tentative than normal; ill at ease as he loiters outside of Thor’s cabin. The Milano is far into intergalactic space. “Your scary lady’s on the comms again. If you want to talk to her.”

“She’s not my scary lady.” Thor corrects. Thinks for a moment, and looks at the small, dull chip in his hands. “I’m not talking to her today.” He should. He knows he should. But it’s one more task he can’t face.

Peter nods and leaves. With him gone, the door hisses shut and leaves them alone. The door’s movement stirs the fine layer of ashes dusting the floor.

“You really should have taken that call,” Loki says. He’s sitting on their bed, a soft blanket around his shoulders to hold off the shock, and a warm and steaming mug in his hands. He looks young and startled and it’s everything Thor can do not to wrap him up in his arms and refuse to ever face the galaxy outside again. “After all, how many days do you get to brag that you won your people a new homeworld?”

But Thor can’t think about it like that. Can’t consider the small ownership chip in his hands as anything more than a fairly indestructible trinket. Can’t let his mind linger on terms of his obligation and duty to others. On all of the things he can fail at. If he does, everything starts to shimmer and grow sickly around the edges. His breath catches short and his eyes begin to sting.

He grips the handle of Stormbreaker tightly, desperately, and manages a nervous smile at Loki. “It can wait.”

“Can it?” Loki sips his drink. “Personally, the suspense of that game nearly killed me. I might not be much longer for this world.” As though the game hadn’t been rougher yet on Thor; and not helped by Loki now pantomiming his own swooning demise. “You should get in all the good news while you can.”

Usually ‘nearly killed me’ is a phrase that would set Thor lose in the darkness, but today, watching Loki fooling around, seeing his brother warm and safe and close even if shaken… Thor pushes his luck: he risks driving Loki away. “With that game behind us, can we agree on no more careless gambles, brother?”

Loki smiles, never more charming than when he’s difficult. “Why ever would I quit while I’m ahead?” His eyes are bright as he rakes them over Thor. “And who would have thought that I’d have such a talented cheat for a brother? It opens up so many opportunities for exploration.”

Thor tries to scowl, though it’s hard to look displeased in the face of Loki’s regard. “Maybe I shouldn’t have burned my ownership certificate before extracting guarantees.” It’s a hollow threat, and by Loki’s barbed smile they both know it.

Thor clenches Stormbreaker tight for inspiration and tries a different tactic with Loki. “If you won’t take more care, you could at least let me know what you’re planning. I could help.”

 _Foolish,_ his thoughts try to tell him. _You can’t help anyone._

They’re thoughts that dissolve when Loki reaches out to Thor. His skin still carries warmth from his mug as he takes tight hold of Thor’s free hand. “Brother,” he says, almost sincere, “you must know you ask for the impossible.”

Thor swallows. Tries to pull back his hand. Loki doesn’t free him. A smile, more gentle than cruel, graces his lips. “But know that there is no twist of fate forthcoming that will cause me _not_ to see to the continued development of your _charming_ new skillset.”

Thor closes his eyes on his tears and his hand around Loki’s. Maybe he is allowed hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Three films later (Ragnarok, Infinity War and Endgame) and I’m still cut up for the survivors of Asgard. I couldn’t help but throw in a possible home world for them.
> 
> As for Loki; it must be remembered that this tale is told very heavily from Thor’s point of view. And Thor’s not in a positive place at the moment. He’s reading a lot more into certain events than perhaps he should.
> 
> I’m thinking about writing a companion piece from Loki’s point of view to expand upon the brothers’ interactions. Does that seem like a good idea?


End file.
